


solar flares

by Ripley7



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripley7/pseuds/Ripley7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke and lexa meet on the ark, it goes about as well as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifour/gifts).



> you have me. until every star in the galaxy dies. you have me.  
> —amie kaufman, illuminae
> 
> [let’s go back to the start. that show is my fucking sandbox now.  
> unbeta'ed, all mistakes are my own.  
> tags will be updated as the story progresses.]

“Wells.”

You poke him in the ribs, and he grunts, swats your hand away, upper body shying away from you but unable to move very far without risking to fall off his stool. Hiding your face behind your crossed forearms on the shared desk, you give him a side glance, taking off your eyes from Pike who’s gone on another rant about how to survive in the wildness, despite the certainty that none of you will ever set foot on the ground, poisonous air and all other radioactive residues forbidding such a dream during your lifetime.

“ _Weeells_ ,” you try again, poking him harder and he swallows down a surprised yelp, throws himself sideways a bit too hard, sways precariously on his stool, equilibrium compromised for a couple of second before he manages to grab the edge of the desk and god, you try to keep a straight face so hard but you have to bite down on your lip to prevent yourself from laughing at the glare he gives you. It’s not even remotely effective but you will never tell him that to his face.

“ _ **What** , Clarke?_” he sighs, pushing away the tablet, giving you finally a modicum of his attention instead of reading again the material for this class, as if he didn’t already know it by heart. **Nerd.** But then you can’t complain about his willingness to learn even the most boring parts of Pike’s curriculum, since he tends to angle his tests _just right_ so you can read his answers. That’s what lead you to be Pike’s one of the best students and Wells’ smug smile lasted for days after he heard that, knowing that it was in big part thanks to him.

“You weren’t listening to me.”

You know you’re pouting, quite pitifully at that, eyelashes fluttering and giving him your best puppy eyes but Wells **is** your best friend and he’s been acting kind of weird lately, spacing out a lot and not making fun of you when you’ve been giving him the occasion on a plate. He snorts, tries to hide it in a cough when a few heads turn towards you both, and you can just tell he’s blushing because he wiggles a bit in his seat and tugs on his collar. So as any good best friend would, you turn your head and give your best glare, the Griffin patterned, to the couple of curious still turned towards you. Pike gives you a lot of leeway for sure, but that’s no reason to try his patience for no good reason. Most of them turn back around, except one and you meet green eyes, a few rows over, and you find yourself cocking an eyebrow as if in challenge. The girl’s stare lingers for a bit, before she mouths “pay attention” and turns back towards the front of the class.

Surprise strikes you dumb and you sit up a bit, turn your head towards Wells, back to her, then back to Wells, lips parted, as if rendered speechless by the gall of this girl. It’s only when you register how hard Wells shake, suppressing his laughter that you groan under your breath, forehead hitting softly the desk and Wells, his embarrassment and annoyance at you seemingly forgotten, pats you softly on the back of head, snickering quietly.

“I hate you both.”

The sound of your voice might be muffled by the sleeves of your sweatshirt but he knows you, sometimes better than you know yourself, so his reply comes with the ease of the years spent together.

“No, you don’t.”

You squint one eye at him and his smug face and he must sense what’s coming next because his laughter dies abruptly. His eyes widen when they fall on the corner of your smirk.

“Clarke, don’t you da—” he whispers, quickly, with a hint of panic in his voice, fairly aware of your mischief streak.

Too late for him. Words can’t save him now. Swiftly, you spring from your stool, one foot hitting the floor and shove your hand in his face, causing him to fall backwards. He crashes with a resounding sound on the floor, while you throw yourself backwards, sitting up straight again, hands linked together, the epitome of innocence.

“Damn Wells,” you say, a bit louder than usual, letting your voice carry to the front of the class, since all eyes are on you now, “that’s what you get for swinging on your stool.”

There is not an once of pity in your body as Wells sits up, dusts himself off, jaw clenched, his pride more bruised than his backbone. He rightens his stool, lowers his eyes as he takes his seat again and mutters a ‘sorry’ to Pike, who is still looking at the both of you quite suspiciously. You give him your best bambi eyes, and he sighs quite loudly, as if bothered beyond belief before starting his lecture again. Green eyed girl is once again the last one to turn back, but this time the hint of a smile is peeking out on her lips.

“You’re dead to me, Griffin,” Wells whispers, hands crisped on the desk, cheeks warm.

You roll your eyes, tilt your head towards him, offering him a cheeky smile.

“Bring it, Jaha.”

Three (tense) days later, the sneaky bastard trips you as you walk together towards the cafeteria, and because the universe hates you or because Wells is a terrifying mastermind with perfect timing, you crash into green eyed girl. And as if it were a terrible rom-com you didn’t sign up for, she tethers backwards with your momentum, grabs the lapel of your jacket to try to regain her balance, fails epically and brings you down with her.

As soon as you untangle yourself from her, you’re gonna kill him but first you gotta take off your hands of her boobs. Shame, they fit quite nicely in your palms.


	2. Chapter 2

Green eyed girl doesn’t move, she’s just sprawled out under you, forearms taking the brunt of your fall, both of your heads so close it’s a wonder you didn’t headbutt her with your luck, and you stay there, straddling her, hands on the prize. You’re almost afraid to rock the boat, because there is almost _no way_ you’re getting out of this without being slapped. And the longer this situation lasts, the harder the slap. Not that you’ve had any experience with that personally, _obviously_ , but you’ve got quite the vivid imagination and right now? This? It doesn’t look good. So, it’s no wonder that your mouth decides here and now that you might as well shoot yourself in the foot. Go big or go broke, right?

“Sorry. Usually I ask for a name first before getting frisky.”

There is a few seconds of awkward silence following that admission, and you _swear_ you can feel Wells’ laugh from down the hallway because that has to be the worse line you’ve _ever_ said, that he knows of, at least, thank god for small favors. He probably wouldn’t believe you anyway. But yes, sometimes terrible pick up lines still get you laid, go figure. You’re not gonna be the one to tell him that yes, girls are not immune to what mother nature gave you, that not all of them want to be romanced at candlelight. But the slight huskiness in your voice, the way it breaks on the first word, is not, _absolutely not_ , something you were planning on and if anything, the way the girl’s lips are tugging up, despite her best efforts to keep a straight face, well she’s definitely catching on and fast. 

“Lexa.”

“Lexa?” you try out, just to see how it feels on your tongue and Lexa’s eyes are now on your mouth and it almost feels like a physical caress.

“Yes.”

Warmth spreads on your cheeks and you are not blushing, you haven’t blushed **in years,** and you open your mouth to say something, anything to try to get out of here with your dignity intact and the girl seems fairly content to leave yourself to dig yourself in a bigger whole, smile widening slowly, when someone grabs you by the collar and heaves you back, so you can rock back on your heels and get up. A quick glance lets you know it’s Wells and relief spreads so fast, you’re almost dizzy, or maybe it’s simply the air rushing in your lungs, sweet, merciful oxygen you’ve been deprived for so long, choking as you did on the sexual tension when you were on the ground. Lexa sits up, eyes flickering up to yours and then down, towards the hand you’re offering her to help her up, a half smirk still floating on her mouth, but she takes it, and you don’t know if you tug too hard or if she’s doing that on purpose but she missteps and you find yourself sharing the same breath again. Static freezes out your brain.

Wells, once again, your savior in time of need, the brother you never had but always wanted, tugs on the back of your jacket and forces you to take a step back and your hand slips out of Lexa’s. Your knees hurt but it’s easy to forget when Lexa’s eyes barely leaves yours and you’re breathless again, swept by the intensity of her gaze. She looks at you like she could eat you alive and at this point, you’re pretty sure you would let her if that meant you would get your hands back on those beauties. Another tug and you’re gone, side-stepping her. When you bypass her, she turns slowly, as if to watch you leave and well you’re not one to deprive an attractive girl of one of your best profiles - they’re all good but a girl’s gotta pick a favorite from time to time, so you may or may not be looking back to see if she’s still watching and she sends you a wink when she catches your gaze. You blame Murphy’s laws and the way Wells keeps leading you by the back of your jacket, as if you were an oversized puppy, for the way you stumble over your own feet and slam into him, making you walk both off kilter, as if the two of you were drunk. There’s a soft chuckle behind you and you desperately want to check if it’s hers, because it seems somehow important to know these things but Wells has already released you and shoved you forwards with a strange look on his face.

“ _Okaaaay_ , Clarke, less flirting, more walking.”

“Not flirting,” you grumble back, embarrassed like you’ve never been before, shuffling your feet sheepishly alongside him.

Mercifully, he lets it go.

It’s only when you’re both sat at a table across from each other, with your trays in front of you, that you grab his hand and press it against your forehead.

“I think I’m sick.”

He seems worried for a second, turns his hand in yours to check with the back if you feel feverish to the touch before taking it back.

“You don’t feel warm,” he starts, eyebrows raised, inviting you to elaborate of your so-called condition.

But you _must_ be. There is no other way. You were _a wreck_ earlier. You’ve never been so off game in your life. So when you start pointing over your left shoulder, the worried frown on his face smoothes out and he grabs his drink to take a sip, probably to hide the _very_ questionable twitch of his lips. Your eyes narrow imperceptibly and he does his very best to fight back with his poker face. After a minute of a staring contest, you give up, shrugging it out.

“But you’ve seen what happened _there_??” you point out, miserable.

He snorts, chokes on his mouthful, and coughs, and coughs, and coughs. You cross your arms, lean back, wait until he catches his breath, as he blinks out tears. That will teach him to laugh _to_ your face when you’re genuinely worried that _something_ is wrong with you. Sadly, swallowing down the wrong way doesn’t rob him of his ability to speak and as soon as he can, he wheezes out.

“ _Yeah_. Kinda hard not to.”

You raise an eyebrow, right leg jiggling, ignoring the pain lancing out, knowing you’re gonna have bruises as a souvenir, and you prepare yourself to kick him in the shin if he says what you think he’s going to say. The fact that he scoots imperceptibly backwards doesn’t help his case, at all.

“Clarke, did you even realize that that hallway was crowded? People were literally going around the two of you.”

You furrow your brow, trying to think back, but honestly the only thing you can remember is _Lexa_.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, letting your head fall into your hands.

“Mhm-mm,” is the overly helpful reply you get from your best friend before he steals your pudding.

“I **need** to get laid.”

“Ye— **wait** , that’s what you took from it?”

Wells looks honest to god gobsmacked and you don’t know why because a girl has _needs_ , and he’s fairly aware of that and you’ve talked about sex in the past so it’s not like it’s _that_ surprising. Well, the dry spell **is** but you’ve been _busy,_ these past few weeks, helping your mom out at the clinic and heavily flirting with the mechanic — the youngest zero g mechanic in fifty two years you remember, even if you’re pretty sure it’s not gonna lead anywhere but sometimes flirting for the sake of flirting is still quite fun and you’re at least on your way towards a friendship so you’ll happily take what you get _._

_“…_ Yeah? What else? _”  
_

He blinks slowly, before waving his spoon in the air, dismissing the question. You’ve never understood why he likes to eat _dessert_ first but he’s weird and he’s yours and some things never change.

“Nevermind. _Sooo_ … Who do you have in mind?”

And that, you can handle, so you lean forward and he mimics you and with a twist of your lips, you remember being six and planning elaborate missions, supported by ridiculous drawings of the scheme you were imagining, all to get _dessert_ before dinner and yeah, let’s say your priorities are quite different now but if there is someone steady in your life, it’s him. Always have, always will. You can’t imagine anything else. 

“Ok, so there’s this girl. Niylah. I think she’s from the 13th?”

And as your meals grow cold, you start recapping for him all he’s missed lately and it feels _good_ to have him back. Good enough that you’re willing to wait and pretend everything is okay until he’s ready to talk and tell you why he’s been so distant these past few weeks. He can take his time, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, not if you have any say about it.

**Author's Note:**

> lieutenantripley on tumblr, come find me if you wanna talk about this verse, headcanons or even prompt me.   
> hope you guys enjoyed that first chapter, the second one is coming right up!


End file.
